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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25478626">home</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sky_blue_hightops/pseuds/sky_blue_hightops'>sky_blue_hightops</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Rapunzel's Tangled Adventure (Cartoon), Tangled (2010)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Concussions, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Head Injury, Hurt/Comfort, Older Sibling Rapunzel (Disney), Temporary Amnesia, Whump, lil bit, me overusing the same general emotional themes in my fics?? more likely than you think</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 12:33:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,245</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25478626</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sky_blue_hightops/pseuds/sky_blue_hightops</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He doesn’t remember much, which should probably bother him more, but he’s a little preoccupied with the stabbing pain in the side of his head. Also the fire raging on the table above him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eugene Fitzherbert | Flynn Rider &amp; Varian, Rapunzel &amp; Varian (Disney), Ruddiger &amp; Varian (Disney)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>197</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>home</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He doesn’t remember much, which should probably bother him more, but he’s a little preoccupied with the stabbing pain in the side of his head. Also the fire raging on the table above him.</p>
<p>Above him?</p>
<p>He’s flat on his back on the ground. Sitting up prompts a long, pained hiss, and his head throbs with the shift. Okay. He’s (probably?) woken up under better conditions. Maybe worse, who knows. He can work with this.</p>
<p>There’s a puddle of red where his head used to rest, and when he wakes up the second time, he thinks <em> more data means a more reliable conclusion </em> and then thinks <em> this is the worse time, definitely</em>. He can’t stop shaking. It could be the blood loss. Or maybe forgetting most everything.</p>
<p>Again, probably. It’s a little hard to recall what <em> everything </em> could entail. Because. Memory loss.</p>
<p>There’s a loud chittering behind him. He twists in place, gritting his teeth at how the movement jars the pain again, and his hands find purchase on the ground. The table is still on fire. There’s glowing liquid on the floor, large metal contraptions pushed into all available corners, and a lack of anyone else besides the spitting, concerned raccoon perched on a stool.</p>
<p>That’s probably his stool.</p>
<p>That’s also probably his raccoon.</p>
<p><em> Ruddiger</em>. He feels stupid for forgetting Ruddiger, for a second, then can’t really recall his own name, and decides this whole situation might be the stupid thing, actually. Not him. Unless he caused this situation. There’s more of that sticky green glow on his gloves, and his goggles lie cracked and sad a few feet away, and it’s beginning to feel a little like he caused this situation.</p>
<p>Ruddiger screeches. He scrambles backwards, instinctively understanding his little friend, and the table <em> explodes</em>.</p>
<p>The third time he wakes up, he’s a little sick of waking up.</p>
<p>There are paws on his face. He sneezes - and <em> wow </em> that was a horrible idea, because his vision shorts out from the pain, and there’s paws frantically on his face and a loud, very worried chirping. His eyes open to find adorable raccoon eyes. “Hi, buddy,” he grins goofily, then remembers he’s probably...still in danger?</p>
<p>Oh, yeah, the table. He spots a bucket on its side behind another table - useless. No water. The flames roar higher, and it’s <em> well </em>past time to leave. Scooping up the small raccoon is no problem, Ruddiger’s claws hooking in his shirt like they’ve done this thousands of times (they have, he thinks, squinting mentally) and he stoops to grab the remains of his goggles before booking it towards the cracked-open door. </p>
<p>He slams it shut behind him, gasping into an empty and fairly regal-looking hallway, praying that’ll contain it whilst he tries to figure out <em> what to do??? </em> and also <em> where is he </em> and also <em> who is he??? </em>He has far too many interrogative words and not enough answers, considering he woke up for the first time in his admittedly-fallible memory like, ten minutes ago. He briefly considers laying down for another nap - the drowsiness in his head is one hell of a siren’s call - but then the door heats up behind his back and he begins making a priority list in his head.</p>
<p>It goes a little like this:</p>
<ol>
<li>Try to not burn down the castle. (This one is, tragically, looking harder by the second.)</li>
<li>Protect Ruddiger. (A given. Also, hinges on number 1.)</li>
<li>Remember things? (An intangible goal, indeed. Might have to ponder this one more later when their lives are not currently in danger.)</li>
<li>Stop the head bleeding. (This only makes the list because the sight of blood is apparently enough to knock him out. And he’s <em>sick</em> of waking up right now. And also unconsciousness isn’t the solution to either points number 1 or 2.) (Probably.)</li>
</ol>
<p>The doorknob burns in his hand, and he lets it go with a yelp. Ruddiger squeaks and grips harder, curled into the crook of his other arm. “We need water,” he explains out loud, and Ruddiger’s listening face fuels him. The sheer determination and inspiration he draws from his buddy is almost enough to shift his focus off the pain, but the blood dripping down his cheek and chin serves as an unfortunate, constant reminder. He refuses to look at it out of the corner of his eye, he <em> refuses </em>. “Water and help.”</p>
<p>A guard calls out from the end of the hall, and he’s filled with excitement because <em> help!</em> And then visions of grey stone and hard-toed boots cram the corners of his mind, painful memories, and he realizes <em> oh, not help</em>. The thought is discouraging, and causes fear of a detached, abstract sort. It’s not very high on the priority list. He thinks repressed trauma not being very high on the priority list is an accurate description of how his day has gone so far.</p>
<p>The door is hot at his back and there’s an adult he’s afraid of at his front. He does the only reasonable thing and <em> bolts</em>.</p>
<p>He runs for as long as he can, which is not very long at all, but it clears his head somewhat. (Aside from the unrelenting pain, that is. Ruddiger, the angel and source of immense comfort that he is, senses this and nuzzles into his armpit. It’s, well. It’s the thought that counts.) </p>
<p>A clear head and some distance brings back familiarity. That was his lab, several halls back and currently on fire. He does <em> science! </em> Benefit of remembering his lab is knowing he’s allowed to be here, in this grand building stuffed full of worried maids and probably-expensive sculptures that he does <em> not </em> almost smash on the ground in his haste. (He isn’t going to get kicked out again, he <em> isn’t</em>. And then he wonders what the again means, and remembers a blizzard and flashes of the worst day of his life, and has to blink back tears.) </p>
<p>The drawback is the intense, sharp feeling of loss he feels at the thought of his precious workspace up in smoke. He remembers his broken goggles and the mess fueling the table fire and thinks, well, it’s him. It was bound to happen eventually. And <em> that </em> hurts even more, that instinctual disappointment in himself. </p>
<p>...Remembering things isn’t much fun, so far.</p>
<p>By the time he skids to a stop, heart pounding but not from panic, he’s thoroughly lost. Guilt twists his stomach - it wasn’t his best idea to run off and leave a room on fire in a big building - but it’s too late now. Maybe he’ll find a maid that’ll stick around long enough for him to explain, without him either almost tripping over them or the blood on his face scaring them off. He’s probably put the entire castle guard on alert at this point, and <em> oh </em>, the heart pounding from fear is back.</p>
<p>The headache eats up most of his higher reasoning, so that’s likely why he decides to run again, takes the next corner at full speed (Ruddiger holding on for dear life; sorry, bud), and crashes into another maid. They go sprawling together, a tangle of limbs and fabric, and he has the sense to avoid crushing Ruddiger but apparently not enough to shield his stomach from elbows and his hands from what’s gonna be a nasty rug burn later. He only has a few moments of <em> uh, ow </em> before his headache peaks close to passing out territory and he becomes only dimly aware of the nervous talking above his head. He drops his forehead back to the carpet, thoughts fuzzy, and begins <em> seriously </em>rethinking that nap decision from earlier.</p>
<p>Hands find his shoulders and then he’s on his back, tasting iron and blinking away dark spots, and the nervous voice above him has a face. It is indeed a girl, but dressed too nicely for a maid. Her look of worry is so open and earnest that it strikes something warm in his chest, and her eyes are bright in the sunshine slanting through the window. For the first time since waking up, he knows he is safe. He knows her - this is another name he feels dumb for forgetting, and it sticks in his throat. “...Rapunzel?”</p>
<p>She kneels next to him, mouth open, then blinks. “Varian...are you okay?” </p>
<p>He doesn’t even have a full second of bewilderment before it clicks that oh, wait yeah, that’s <em> him.</em> “That’s me!” He’s a little too excited about his own name, maybe, but the funny look she gives him at the outburst isn’t enough to dispel the relief he feels. More bits and pieces come wandering back, nothing special or even really coherent, but any progress is good progress and the adrenaline high he was riding earlier has left him completely exhausted on the ground. He’s definitely past the point of wanting to be upright, and things are looking good for numbers 2 and 3, and he decides hey, he can have a second to rest. </p>
<p>Not even Rapunzel’s hands on his face or Ruddiger chewing on his hair can get him to open his eyes again. He isn’t even being obstinate; they’re just so heavy, and he’s so tired. Less light reaching the backs of his eyes means less pain. This is obviously the best configuration for him right now, and his friends will just have to deal with that in the meantime. </p>
<p>Then there’s arms under his knees and cradling his neck, and he presses his face against fabric. It fills his vision with a soft red and he breathes in slowly. “You’ve got the whole castle in an uproar, kid.” Eugene’s voice is quiet, edged with laughter, and he can hear it clearly from where his ear smushes against Eugene’s chest.</p>
<p>“Yeah, fire,” he explains eloquently. More laughter, warm and lulling, then a whispered conversation over his head, a gentle hand in his hair, a raccoon purring on his chest. He very quickly loses the fight for consciousness.</p>
<hr/>
<p>This time he wakes up, it’s not nearly as bad as the rest of them. He mentally notes the disruption in the trend, and then realizes he can remember more than three times.</p>
<p>It’s all there, all his recent and old memories, if not fuzzy and hard to reach. The dash through the castle is <em> very </em>spotty, but he can still picture worried green eyes and can still recall being held carefully, safely. Late afternoon sunlight and caring hands. Fire and a dim green glow and blood drying on his collarbone.</p>
<p>The room - and it’s his room for when he stays in the castle, the sheets under him familiar and the furniture his own - is empty save himself. And Ruddiger, who is of course curled against his side in a little ball, still napping. He dozes for a bit, unconcerned and relatively pain-free compared to earlier, before the door creaks open.</p>
<p>Rapunzel pokes her head in quietly, before realizing he’s awake and slipping inside. Varian makes the excellent decision to push himself up and swing his legs over the side of the bed, bare feet touching the ground, but he’s only standing for a second before he sways and abruptly sits back down. Message received loud and clear - he still needs rest.</p>
<p>When she reaches him, it’s with open, hovering hands and a furrowed brow. “You worried us,” she begins, and if he didn’t feel so vulnerable because of the clear concern, he’d maybe go through his act of settling in for a lecture. But he remembers <em> not </em> remembering, and how scary that must’ve been to see (and the fire in his lab, the blood on his floor) and the idea of being cared for so vividly wrenches something loose in his heart. “The doctor says the memory loss isn’t good; Varian, you <em> need </em> to be more careful with your experiments.”</p>
<p>He swallows and nods, because there’s not much of an argument he can put against that. “I know, I’m sorry-”</p>
<p>“You don’t have to apologize, it was an accident,” she frowns softly. “We all make mistakes and that’s okay. I just want you to be safe, too.”</p>
<p>Those words are a weight off his shoulders he hadn’t realized was dragging him down. He won’t be able to stop making mistakes - no one can - but there’s always a lingering guilt that comes with unintended results and property damage that he’s never been able to shake. Even if it was or wasn’t his fault. “Thank you,” is all he can say, and it’s well beyond a thanks for bringing him here, or seeing him patched up. It’s for <em> everything</em>. </p>
<p>She pulls him in for a hug, touch light, but he just hugs back harder. He’ll be fine, he’s not made of glass. This is his own way of proving he’s still okay. He can feel her smile into his hair, and knows she understands. “I should make you wear a helmet, you know,” she says, and he snorts. Unlikely. </p>
<p>(The probability is, in fact, higher than he assumed. High enough to provide results, because a few days later she plonks a helmet on his head mid-alchemy-ramble. It’s got little scared faces painted on it, a skull or two, a very stressed Ruddiger. He puts it in a place of honor on his shelf and brings it down for the Big Projects - you never can be too cautious, he’s learned. And, despite everything that’s happened, he wouldn’t trade his own memories for the world.)</p>
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